


Chance Encounters

by wayward_dream



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Also Peter can't keep a secret identity to save his life, Also Tony lives and is the best dad and that's the only canon i'll accept, F/M, Fluff, He's doing his best ok, Minor Violence, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter is having a hard time, Sassy Peter Parker, Tony is a worried dad, but like, but this time it isn't his fault, nothing that wouldn't appear in the movies?, peter is an AWFUL liar, so not too graphic, what even are these tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24366037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wayward_dream/pseuds/wayward_dream
Summary: Peter just wanted to finish his patrol and get home. But his life could never be that easy, could it?
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark, Peter Parker/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 65





	Chance Encounters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [whitewolfandthefox](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitewolfandthefox/gifts).



The instant the Quinjet touched down on the roof of Avenger’s tower a red-and-blue blur shot out, bounding to the edge and perching in a crouch as Spiderman gazed out over the city skyline.

Peter’s chest expanded as he breathed in deep, exhaling on a sigh. “Ah, nothing quite like that New York City smog to let me know I’m home.” The wind up here was cold and bracing, and Peter reveled in the excitement of being so high up, itching to go swinging through the streets. He was winding up to do exactly that when Tony’s voice rang out behind him, freezing him in place.

“Not so fast! I know you’re excited to be back, kid, but I want you down in the med bay ASAP so FRIDAY can take a look at that head wound--”

“Aw, Mr. Stark, I’m fine, I just want to do a quick patrol and go home,” Peter whined.

Tony’s disapproval was clear in his voice. “Parker, that was a pretty nasty blow you took when those thugs cornered you--”

“But I feel fine now! It doesn’t even hurt, I’m good as ne--” He cut off as his gesticulating made his head throb anew. “Okay, maybe it hurts a _little,”_ he admitted, “but I’m like…...eighty-seven percent sure my healing factor is already taking care of it.”

Tony crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at Peter, unimpressed. “Eighty seven percent, huh? Lotta room for improvement there, kid.”

“Honest, Mr. Stark, I feel fine!” Peter swore, widening the eyes of his mask as he looked up. “I’m just gonna do a quick sweep on my way home.” Then he pulled out his trump card: “I really wanna go see Aunt May.”

Tony visibly softened, sighing as the tension in his shoulders drained away, and Peter knew he had won. “You sure you don’t want a ride?”

“Nah, I think the fresh air will be good for me.”

Tony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fine. Fine, you win for now. Have Karen let me know when you get home okay.”

Peter whooped with joy. “Okie dokie, I will! I’ll see you fresh and early in the morning Mr. Stark, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed!”

And before Tony could get in another word, Peter rocked back on his heels before leaping off the edge of the tower, shooting out a web and whooshing through the darkened streets. Every dizzying drop, every rush of wind in his ears made Peter feel giddy and exhilarated.

After a few blocks, though, the novelty of being back home had worn off. His head was throbbing something fierce and it was making him feel nauseous as his swinging only exacerbated the pain. His eyes were watering, making the lenses of his suit fog up. Swinging onto a rooftop, Peter paused to yank off the mask and rub his eyes, sighing wearily.

“Might be time to call it a night….” He mumbled to himself.

“Someone, please help me!” The distressed cry pierced the night and dashed any hopes Peter had of turning in early.

With a last wistful thought of how warm and soft his bed waiting at home would be, Peter yanked his mask back on. “Come on, Spiderman, New York needs you,” he said, hyping himself up as he ran across the roof, shooting out a web right as he leapt off the edge, following the direction of the voice to an alley, sticking to the wall to take in the scene below: two burly guys had cornered a girl and were slowly advancing as she backed further down the alley.

Sighing, Peter pushed off the wall to somersault and landed lightly on the sidewalk, never making a sound. Dusting himself off, Peter straightened and put his hands on his hips.

“Come on, guys, really?” he said casually, trying to sound stern but he was grinning behind the mask. “Mugging? In an _alleyway_ ? Could you _be_ any more cliche?”

The two would-be muggers stiffened and whirled to face the masked vigilante, and Peter realized that they were distinctly taller than him. Holding up his hands placatingly, Peter tried to diffuse the situation. “I don’t want any trouble, fellas, so how about we just do this the easy way and let the nice lady go, yeah?” he offered.

The two thugs exchanged a silent look before the one nearest to Peter cracked his knuckles and advanced, the other turning back to the girl. “Oooooor the hard way, that’s also an option,” he grumbled, dropping into a crouch. The guy was big, but even at less than one hundred percent, Peter still had enhanced speed and agility, plus his Peter Tingle™ (ugh….he really needed to come up with a better name for that…) guiding him. The thug never stood a chance.

“Missed me!” he teased as he leapt nimbly out of the way. “Oop, missed me again!” he called as he ducked under his arm as a punch sailed over his head. “I’d say ‘now you have to kiss me’,” Peter mused as he dodged behind the guy, planting a foot on his back and sending him stumbling with a shove, “but you aren’t really my type, no offense.”

It didn’t take long for it all to go wrong. He was cocky, but after the initial rush of adrenaline he began to feel woozy again, his reactions slower, and he wasn’t taking it as seriously as he should have.

He let himself get preoccupied with taunting the guy coming after him, rather than incapacitating him, and the other assailant slipped his mind until he heard the girl cry out in pain.

Dodging a wild swing aimed at him, Peter perched sideways on the wall of the alley, snapping his head around to see that the other mugger had pulled a knife out and held a fistful of the girl’s hair. “Karen, activate taser webs!” Peter yelped as he aimed, carefully firing a web that latched onto the mugger’s wrist before lighting up with blue sparks. He dropped the knife with a curse as his wrist spasmed, and Peter yanked sharply on the web, sending him stumbling off balance, but his inattention cost him. He registered the warning Peter Tingle™ an instant too late.

Sharp pain flared as a fist connected to his face, and his head collided with the wall he was perched on. Stunned, Peter dropped to the ground, landing clumsily on his hands and knees. Another warning tingle, and this time he got his hand up in time to prevent the incoming knee from colliding with his face. Grabbing onto the guy’s leg, he jerked the thug off-balance and when he landed on his back Peter was quick to web him to the ground, immobilizing him.

Through the spikes of nauseating pain and the faint ringing in his ears, Peter distantly realized that the approaching sirens were getting louder. He quickly webbed the other mugger to the wall, climbing up the side of the building right as the cop cars arrived at the scene. Pausing to rest at the top of the building, Peter swayed a bit and sighed. “Karen? What’s the quickest route home from here?” he asked tiredly. 

“Calculating,” the familiar voice spoke in his ear as a digital map appeared on his lenses. In mere moments, green lines lit up, showing where he was and the swiftest route home. Peter’s heart sank as he realized how much farther he’d have to go, and he kind of wished he’d taken up Mr. Stark’s offer of a ride.

“Thanks, Karen,” he sighed.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Parker.”

Dragging himself back to his feet, Peter walked to the ledge of the building, chose a spot to swing from, and shot his web.

As soon as he stepped off the edge he knew it was a bad decision. His stomach swooped nauseatingly, his head spun and his vision swam, and for the first time as he swung he felt out of control. He slammed into the side of a building and groaned in pain, everything throbbing as he fell, ungracefully flailing with a series of metallic clattering until he managed to latch onto something like a pretzel - a metal rail...part of a staircase?

Dazed, Peter slowly looked around and realized that he was on a fire escape, clinging to the railing. He shook his head and realized his mask felt sticky and warm - he must have been sweating. Gross.

Still, when he leaned his head against the metal of the railing it felt blissfully cool through his mask, and his eyes slid shut of their own volition.

 _I just need a few minutes…..I’ll just rest here, and then once I’m feeling better I’ll go home,_ he told himself. _Just a few….minutes…._

* * *

You jolted as you heard a loud crash outside your window. You were used to the odd bird hitting your window every now and then, but this was way too loud to be another dumb pigeon.

Thoughts of burglars and home invasion flashed through your mind and had you reaching for the bat you kept by your bed before cautiously creeping towards the window, carefully sliding it up and peering out, clutching your bat so hard your knuckles turned white.

What you saw made you drop it with a gasp, letting it clatter carelessly to the floor as you scrambled out onto the fire escape.

Spiderman himself was tangled in the stairs, legs dangling over empty air as his arms hugged the rail. He was clearly unconscious, body limp and loose and his head lolled to the side like a ragdoll. Your stomach twisted into knots when you saw that his mask was stained a darker red near his temple, blood saturating the material and slowly seeping lower, towards his neck and chest.

You slowly edged nearer, wary of startling him but wanting to help. When you were close enough you put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing and then shaking gently when he was unresponsive. His head flopped forward and he groaned, and you worried that he was seriously hurt. You dithered, unsure what to do, but you couldn’t just leave him here, he could bleed out and you couldn’t have that on your conscience.

Steeling your resolve, you reached down and tried to haul him up. It was easier than you expected - he was surprisingly light, and with a few grunts and curses you managed to get him into a fireman’s carry and you carefully carried him back inside your apartment, laying him on your bed before quietly dashing to grab your first aid kit from the bathroom. You took care to avoid the creaky floorboard in the hallway, not wanting to explain to your family members what you were doing up so late or have the stranger in your room discovered.

You grabbed the kit, and tiptoed to the kitchen for an ice pack and a washcloth before hurrying back to your room, making sure to lock the door behind you.

Once inside, you paused to look back at your bed, half-expecting it to be empty and the vigilante gone, like a mirage, or a fever dream.

But, no, there he was. Flopped on your bed, blood saturating his suit like an inkblot spreading through water.

Taking a deep breath, you went and sat on the edge of the bed by him, hesitating only a moment before peeling his mask up - you had to be able to see his injury to treat it, after all. You could only hope he would understand.

As his face was revealed, you winced in sympathy. A nasty gash on his temple appeared to be the main source of the blood, which was still oozing sluggishly and the skin around it bruised dark purple. His left eye was also bruised and a bit swollen, and there was blood crusted around his nose, so dark it nearly looked black and staining his upper lip. He looked like he’d been through the wringer. 

You didn’t even know where to start, a feeling of helplessness washing over you. It was so unfair, he did so much for the city and you wanted to help him in return. Giving your head a vigorous shake, you took a deep breath and decided to start with cleaning away the blood, taking the washcloth and carefully starting to dab away the blood.

Once his face was cleaned, it looked less gruesome; you couldn’t be sure, but you thought the bruises even looked a little better, though maybe that was your imagination.

You wrung out the wash cloth before wrapping it around the ice pack and gently placing it over his swollen eye, hoping that would help a bit. Then you opened the first aid kit and clean his cuts before applying butterfly bandages to try and hold the cuts closed, not daring to attempt stitches.

Through the whole process, Spiderman remained passed out, a faint grimace on his face. You wondered if he was having a nightmare, or if he was in pain, and tried not to feel helpless that you couldn’t do more for him. For now, you supposed he just needed rest. You packed up the first aid kit and, after a moment’s hesitation, grabbed his mask, bringing it with you to the bathroom and carefully washing out the blood in the sink.

Once the water no longer ran red, you filled a glass of water in the sink before returning to your room, setting both on the nightstand by your bed before settling at your desk with your phone. You occasionally glanced up to check on him, but time slipped away as you scrolled through various social media pages on your phone.

The sky was just turning lighter gray when he suddenly jolted awake, gasping and shooting to a sitting position, only to groan and clutch at his head. The ice pack slipped off his eye and landed on his lap.

“Um….Spiderman?” you said tentatively, concerned that he might need some help, maybe something to eat or some pain meds.

He flinched at the sound of your voice, his head shooting up and all the color draining from his face as he locked eyes with you. “Th-that’s--I’m not--you’ve got the wrong guy, I--I’m just a regular guy,” he stammered. “This...this is….cosplay! Yeah! I’m a cosplayer, this is just a cosplay for my TikTok!” 

You were skeptical, but not really willing to push it while he seemed so distressed.

“Okay….well….your mask is there,” you pointed to the nightstand where you’d left it. “And there’s water if you want it.”

You watched curiously as he snatched up the water and guzzled it. Now that he wasn’t passed out or covered in blood, you were able to really get a good look at him beyond the superficial injuries. _He’s cute,_ you decided, taking in the disheveled, fluffy hair sticking out in every direction, the angled line of his jaw, and especially the big brown eyes.

“Do you want more? Or pain meds?” you offered as he finished the glass, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist. The look he gave you was downright bashful and you found yourself fighting a smile. “It’s no trouble, really.”

“More water would be good,” he murmured. Standing, you held your hand out for the glass. After he passed it over you went to refill it, but a thought occurred to you and you paused, turning to look back at him from your doorway to see him twisting his mask in his hands anxiously.

“Promise not to disappear on me while I’m gone?” you asked, and wide brown eyes met yours. “I just want to make sure you’re okay, finding you passed out like that had me pretty worried. So….please don’t leave,” you requested softly. The two of you looked at each other for a long minute.

“I promise not to disappear,” he said softly, looking down. Taking him at his word, you went to go refill the water, grabbing a bottle of Tylenol on the way.

When you got back to your room you were relieved to find him still there. He was sitting crisscross on your bed, eyes darting up when your door opened and offering you a tentative smile that you returned as you held out the water and the Tylenol to him. He gratefully took them, swallowing a couple of pills along with the water.

You settled back at your desk, watching him curiously. “So….how does a cosplayer wind up passed out on my fire escape bleeding from a head wound?” you asked curiously.

Not-Spiderman went tense, peering at you from under his lashes. “I, uh….I was...out filming, for my TikTok, because you know, I’m a TikTok cosplayer,” he began, gesticulating as he spoke. “And then when I was on my way home, these...uh...these two guys jumped me, and they were like, ‘Give us your money!’ and I was all ‘No way!’ and they proceeded to beat me up, but I was able to give them the slip. Then, um, I….I got lost, running away from them, and was….trying to get a higher view! So I could….see which way home was, which is why I was climbing your fire escape, to get a better look. And then my head hurt, and so I sat down and….uh….next thing I know, here I was.” He watched you anxiously to see if you were believing his hastily thrown-together story.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like a wild night,” you said mildly, and his face melted into a relieved, goofy grin.

“Y-yeah, it was pretty crazy. Thank you for helping me, by the way,” he said. “I’m...Peter. Peter Parker.” He stuck his hand out.

“Y/N L/N. And I think we go to school together - I’ve seen you studying in the library. You’re a computer science major, aren’t you?” you asked curiously, shaking his hand.

Peter stared at you, turning faintly pink. “You--you noticed?” His voice came out as a bit of a squeak and you grinned. 

The two of you continued to talk, neither noticing the time slipping away as the sky outside your window slowly lightened with the rising sun. The two of you were in your own little bubble until suddenly your doorknob rattled. You jumped and jerked your head round to stare at the door, relieved when it stayed closed. You must’ve remembered to lock it when you last came in.

“Dad?” you called out, watching the door anxiously.

“Y/N, who are you talking to?” you heard your father ask through the door, sounding sleepy.

“Uh….no one, just….watching videos,” you lied lamely. “I’ll be downstairs in a bit, okay?”

You heard your father mumble his assent and shuffle away, and you sighed in relief, turning back to look at Peter with a sheepish smile.

Your bed was empty and you frowned, feeling a bit hurt that he’d disappeared, and then puzzled. He couldn’t have slipped out your window without you hearing. You looked around, only to hear a sheepish cough from above.

Tilting your head back, you gaped at Peter, perched on the wall near the ceiling with his back to the corner nearest the window. His face was flushed bright red, and he was watching you anxiously as you slowly came to your feet and moved closer.

“.....just a cosplayer, hm?” You raised an eyebrow at him, offering a small, gentle smile so he’d know you weren’t mad.

He smiled a bit sheepishly, slowly clambering down the wall. “Um….any chance I could persuade you to not tell anyone about this?” he asked hopefully, wringing his hands nervously as he peered at you with nervous brown eyes.

“Relax, Peter, I can keep a secret,” you assured him. He broke into a relieved grin and before you knew it, you were being swept up in surprisingly strong arms as he hugged you. Caught off guard, you froze for a moment before slowly returning the hug, strands of soft dark brown hair tickling you as he rested his chin on your shoulder. The moment stretched on as the two of you held each other, neither seeming to want to be the first to pull away.

Eventually, Peter did, taking a small step back and clearing his throat. “Um, much as I’d like to keep hanging out, I need to get home. I’ve been out all night and I gotta check in with my family.”

You offered a reassuring smile, resting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing. “I get it. Are you gonna be able to get home okay?” you asked. His bruising did look much better, faded yellow rather than dark angry purple as it had been last night, but you still worried.

Flexing both arms and puffing out his chest, Peter offered a grin. “Thanks to your expert spider-nursing, I’m good, like….so good. Back to one hundred percent, good as new!” he assured, shooting finger guns and making you laugh. “No but really, I have a healing factor - I’ll be fine. Swearsies.”

“Well then, Spiderman, you’d best get going.” You grabbed his mask from your nightstand and tossed it to him. Catching it with a grateful smile, Peter tugged it on and pushed your window open, pausing in the act of clambering out to glance back at you.

It was odd, seeing the inscrutable mask rather than Peter’s expressive face looking back at you, but it was his voice, sweet and grateful, that you heard. “Thanks again, for everything.” Then he shot out a web and was gone.

You rushed to the window, watching with a smile as he navigated the streets until he turned a corner and you could no longer see him. “I’ll see you around. Take care, Peter Parker.”

**Author's Note:**

> My first time writing Marvel fanfic, so....be kind, y'all


End file.
